Page 46 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Poor thing,” I mutter.

“You’ll see that a lot in my line of work. There is always a poor animal bleeding out his asshole and a crowd of flies around his eyes on the road.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Ah, you’ll get used to it. I’ve seen worse. Dead bodies from car accidents.”

I look away, thinking about my parents and how they both died in a car accident on the way back home from getting me a surprise birthday present a few towns over.

He pulls out onto a main road, which is freshly paved. “Here we are.”

I look at the big white building, freshly painted sitting in the middle of nowhere, oddly placed. I read the sign, and a wave of dread washes over me. This is the last place I want to go, but my phone chimes and says, “You have reached your destination.”

I frown and look at the order form. This is the same place I was headed, and it’s the last place I would think Ford would be staying when he asked me to personally deliver his order.

“This is Trent’s garage.”

“That’s what it says,” he says sarcastically. “It’s the only mechanic shop still open in town. The last one closed. The owner called it quits and retired. If you want your van fixed without paying hundreds to another shop outside of town, I’ll gladly do the tow. Call me, and I’ll give you an estimate per mile. If not, Trent is the only one that can help you.” He gives me a wink. “He’s not a bad-looking guy. I’m sure he’ll give you a good price.”

A darkness creeps in from the edges of my memory and threatens to swallow me whole, fragmented, disjointed—a series of flashes and sensations that refuse to fade. But the fear, profound and unfathomable terror is still as real as it was at that moment, always lurks just beneath the surface, ready to drag me back into that place.

I swallow, trying to calm the lump in my throat.

“You never went to school with him.”

“Oh, so you know ’em.”

“Something like that.”

He pulls to a stop and gets out, giving me a full view of his plumber’s crack as he slides off the seat.

Walking up to the overhead door, I catch a glance from a few guys working on a Mustang out front.

“Is Trent here?” I ask, my voice cracking on the last part.

“Let me do it.” Two guys are arguing. “I want to do it.”

“Whatever, man,” the other kid whines.

“Yo Trent, we got a customer!” a blond guy says, giving me his lame attempt at a sexy smile.

I roll my eyes and wait, listening to the flatbed system from the tow truck as it tilts.

I hear the deep growl from an engine. Then it roars so loud that I squint and cover my ears.

“Woohoo!” someone cheers. “That sounds awesome!”

“Yo, Trent!” the blond guy fires off.

“I’m coming,” he yells, his voice cracking in frustration from somewhere in the back, and then I see him. My nightmare in the flesh.

“I have a delivery, and…” I look over my shoulder at Dean unloading my van, dragging the chain away from the tires and back. “I need an estimate to fix my van. I broke down on my way over.”

He casts a hesitant glance at the van and then at me. “You need me to fix your van?”

I fold my arms protectively over my chest with the order form from the cookies still clutched in my hand, not caring that I’m crumpling it. I do,” I reply and look away, not wanting him to see the tears I’m holding back. “I don’t know what is wrong with it. It was backfiring earlier, and then it died on the way over here.”

“Alright,” he says softly. A far cry from the way he looked and treated me back in high school. I haven’t seen him since it happened. I hoped I never would.

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